Repentance
by MelancholyDusk
Summary: Loosing someone important in your life is never easy, but is it really a loss if they were never there to begin with? Eric thinks so. Kyle's not too sure. Kyman. Oneshot.
The usual harsh winds of the small town in Colorado seem to have subsided into a mild breeze, causing the branches of the scattered pine trees to sway softly. A thick layer of snow coats the ground, whereas the buildings and street benches have a slight dusting of frost and an array of icicles hanging neatly in a row. There's a muffled hum of cars driving cautiously along the icy roads in the distance, as well as the quiet sounds of little woodland animals scurrying through what's left of the fallen twigs and leaves that have been covered in the white substance.

A large brunette trudges onward upon the slippery pavement, his hands shoved in the pockets of his carmine winter jacket in an attempt to retain body heat in the crisp air. He shivers noticeably, but is too lost in his thoughts to be aware of this. He's the only person out walking at this point in time, everyone else having enough intelligence to stay indoors or in a warm vehicle. Every step he takes leaves a wide, boot-shaped dent behind him. Each one is eventually filled by the miniscule snowflakes falling down from the sky. A sigh escapes his chapped lips, creating a puff of fog in his line of vision.

Today is his least favorite day of the year, the day that reminds him of the worst thing he has ever accomplished in his entire existence. Some may disagree, others may _strongly_ disagree, as he has done _a lot_ of terrible things in his younger days. This is just another one for the list, in their opinions. This tragedy doesn't surprise most people in the slightest, once they know who the cause of it was. However, he himself is haunted by this experience every day of his life. It's the main factor for what shaped him into the bitter, self-hating man he is today. He wonders why he hasn't been thrown into a cell by now, left to rot away as he's forced to relive every gunshot, every scream, every cry. After all, what else would he have to think about when he's getting the shit kicked out of him by his three-hundred pound cellmate? That's what he deserves, in his eyes.

After shuffling through the town for about twenty minutes, the man finally reaches his destination. He stretches out his arm and slowly pushes open the rusty gate of the cemetery, sliding through the gap. Once inside, he stuffs his hands back into his pockets at the sudden loss of warmth. There's no need to scan the area, as he has already began making his way towards the grave after years of memorizing the directions. He sees the two large gravestones at the center of the churchyard and frowns. He's only there for one of them.

He takes a seat beside the grave on the left, pulls his knees up to his chest, and closes his eyes, taking deep, steady breaths. A couple of salty tears roll down his crimson cheek, with a few more following suit, and drip onto his shaking knees. He wipes his eyes hastily with both hands. The tears just won't stop coming. Eventually, he gives up and lets them fall, not caring if anyone were to see him like this. They all knew he was fucked up regardless, so witnessing him bawl over something he purposefully caused so long ago wouldn't even drive them to bat an eye. He lets out a lengthy exhale, shuddering as he does so. This is all his fault. He's dead because of _him_.

The brunette stiffly turns his head towards the gravestone. He reads the neatly engraved writing, biting his lip to avoid another flow of tears. "Here lies Jack Tenorman," he begins, voice shaking, "a loving husband, father, and friend. He'll be greatly missed by all." The hefty male chuckles sadly upon reading the last line. Sure, his death was a tragedy, but it's not like it left a huge dent in the hearts of those living in the abnormal town. It was simply an inconvenience. Jack and his wife's death really only affected Scott, their son. However, days turned into weeks, weeks to months, months to years, and as every second, minute, and hour passed, Eric's cheerfulness about the situation began to decline. Growing up without a father is a challenge on it's own, but living with the fact that it was _you_ who took his life from him in such a cruel, gruesome way was on a whole 'nother level.

Today would have been his father's birthday, had he still been alive. Eric made it his mission to visit him every year on Jack's birthday, his own birthday, and the anniversary of his death. Coming here any more times than that would prove to be far too overwhelming for the so-called heartless man. He first started visiting when he was approximately fourteen years of age, only realizing then how hard it was to talk to his mother about certain things in his life, opting to tell his father first instead. He told him about his confusion with his sexuality, how he didn't understand why he wasn't feeling the same way about girls as he was about boys. Part of him expected to get a response, but of course, the only reply was the sound of the cold gusts of wind whistling around him.

He made an agreement with Scott a long time ago to never stop by the grave at the same time. The older male was over the moon, never wanting to see the face of the man who mercilessly caused the death of his only family members ever again. As for Eric, the guilt was just too much to handle. Luckily, Scott moved across the country after college a few years back, so he never has to worry about crossing paths too often.

Eric never went to college, deciding to go straight to work instead. He works in the marketing business, which is a breeze with his social skills. He has each employee wrapped around his rotund finger. The same applies for his boss, which is how he managed to get such a well-paid job with no work experience or schooling in the subject. The only problem is, he hates his job. He hates it with a passion that burns brighter than his hatred for himself and the things he had caused throughout his life. He wanted to start his own business, to be the one who controlled the payment and workload of other people. To be in charge; _important_. The only reason he tries his very best to retain this dull career is to keep his boyfriend sheltered and well-fed.

Kyle still attends university, and has no intention of working until he gets the fuck out of law school. Until then, he's forced to rely on Eric, something he's not exactly ecstatic about, and make fruitless attempts to quell his stress and anger over the endless amounts of papers and such piled in disorganized columns along his desktop. He would have much preferred studying medicine or psychology, but his parents wouldn't have any of it. More so his mother, but Gerald couldn't deny feeling pride at the thought of the family business progressing through each generation. His future was practically marked in stone from the moment he took his first breath. Not Eric, though. He had a choice to go to college, to do what he wanted to do in life. However, just like everything else, he fucked up. The only thing he didn't fuck up, in his eyes, was his relationship with Kyle. Even then, he feels like it's hanging by a thread.

Eric has been unhealthily distant to his partner in recent days, which is affecting their relationship big time. He feels like he's not worthy of the small Jew's care and affection. Not after everything he has done. Instead of cooking dinner for the two of them at home like he usually does, the brunette goes out to a nearby McDonalds after work each day, leaving Kyle at home trying to figure out how to use the damn microwave. He speaks in short, one-word answers and doesn't dare to make eye contact. The worst part, in Eric's eyes, is forcing himself to sleep on the couch every night as opposed to being in their large, comfy bed with his snoozing boyfriend starfished across his torso. He knows that's what Kyle misses the most, too.

"He doesn't deserve this shit," he mutters to himself. "Christ, I'm a fucking mess. He might as well fuck off to Stan, get hitched, and adopt a bunch of damn orphans like he always wanted."

"I highly doubt Wendy would be too impressed with that, being his wife and all." Eric turns his head sharply towards the direction the voice came from. He immediately sees a short figure bundled up in multiple layers of dark clothing making his way towards him, the only thing giving away his identity being the infamous thick, fiery curls framing his pale, scarf-covered face. He stands in front of the other man, pulling down the fluffy snood to avoid muffling his speech again. "I knew you'd be here," he sighs, kneeling down. "It's his birthday today, right?"

Eric looks everywhere but at the shivering angel adjacent to him. He didn't expect Kyle to come at all, and now that he's here he has no idea what to say. There's nothing really he _can_ say. He feels a gloved hand on his shoulder, tearing him from his nervous thoughts. The brunette gulps, uttering a simple, "Yeah."

The hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek, gently raising his face to be somewhat level with Kyle's. He shifts his gaze to look longingly at the freezing redhead, earning a soft smile on his boyfriend's practically colorless lips. "I miss you, you know," he whispers, tears beginning to brim his eyes. "And I know you miss me, too."

"No shit," Eric rolls his eyes. "More than anything." He shifts his stone cold gaze back at the grave. Well, maybe not _anything_.

Now, it's Kyle's turn to roll his eyes. "Then why the fuck don't you do something about it? For God sake, Cartman, it seems like I'm the only one who's trying to save our relationship! All you're doing is pushing me away."

"That's bullshit, and you know it, Jew Boy," Eric growls, shoving his boyfriend's hand away from him. Kyle stares at him in astonishment. This is the longest Eric has spoken to him in weeks, albeit negatively. "I'm fucking protecting you, why can't you just understand that? I'm doing this because I fucking care about you. Now get the fuck out of here and leave me alone, Asshole."

"Protecting me from what?" Kyle cries, making no indication of leaving.

Eric stands abruptly, nearly knocking his stubborn boyfriend over in the process. He stomps past him, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to lose his mind. Suddenly, he stops moving as a small body wraps itself around his left leg. "The fuck are you doing?" He yells, trying to shake the extra weight off of his leg.

"You're not going anywhere until you explain why you're being such a cunt," Kyle retorts, holding onto the limb for dear life. An evil smirk graces the brunette's chattering mouth as he lifts his leg awkwardly and lumbers through the empty cemetery, earning a few screams of protest from his passenger. "Okay, _okay_! Put me down!"

He lets go, falling backwards into a deep pile of snow. At first Eric laughs, seemingly forgetting about his problems at the sight of the clumsy Jew making an ass out of himself. However, he's quick to bend over and pull him out of the freezing mound for fear he'll catch a cold due to his shitty immune system. He can only take one more guilt trip before it sends him flying off the edge of sanity, and he's not planning on experiencing that anytime soon. Once he's finished wiping the excess snow off of his pouting boyfriend, Eric uncharacteristically tears off his coat and wraps it loosely around him. Kyle stares in awe at the sight of the insolent brunette showing an unusual act of kindness. Something must _really_ be eating at his conscience.

"Go home, Kahl," he mumbles, heading towards his father's resting place once again.

Kyle grabs hold of his creased shirt and tugs him back, realization striking. "Is _that_ what this is all about? _Him_?" The taller man doesn't reply, standing as still as possible as he waits for the redhead to release him from his hold. Kyle sighs, combing his free hand through his windswept locks. "Cartman, he wasn't a good guy."

"Yes he fucking was!" Eric screamed, making his boyfriend jump. "He was a good father and I fucked everything up. Surprise, surprise, right?"

"He was a good father my ass," Kyle scoffs. "Maybe for Scott, but he was never there for you. You didn't even know he was your dad until after he died. If he was still alive today, you'd most likely have _no_ idea who your father was. You just need to accept the fact that we all make mistakes, some worse than others, and you can't keep beating yourself up over this. I'm worried about you, Stan's worried about you, Kenny, Butters. Liane needs you more than _any_ of us and you're not fucking there for her. You visit this piece of shit who did absolutely nothing but pretend you didn't exist instead of visiting your own mother who went out of her way every single fucking day to make sure you lived a happy life. What you need to do is concentrate on doing stuff right, not dwelling on the things you did wrong in the past. The difference between you and him is that you wanted him in your life and he wanted nothing to do with you. He had a choice to take responsibility and be a loving father to you but he was a dumbass and ruined everything. _He_ did this, _not_ you."

There's a long moment of silence between the two men after that, the only sounds being Kyle's heavy panting and Eric's almost inaudible sniffles. Finally, the Jew loosens his grip on his boyfriend's shirt. Eric slowly turns around, his head hanging low. "You're right," he mutters. "You're fucking right."

"Aren't I always?" Kyle smiles shyly at him. "I'm sorry that you have to deal with this, but I'm here for you. Always will be." His hand creeps its way back up to its rightful place on the brunette, cupping his face carefully. He pulls him down to his height, immediately catching his familiar musk as he dilatorily inhales through his nose. He leans in and brushes his lips against the other's. The redhead then wraps his arms around Eric's neck and begins peppering kisses around his collarbone. All of a sudden he stops, confused at the realization that his boyfriend isn't reciprocating.

"Can't this wait?" Eric grumbles, stepping away from the frazzled Jew and holding him at arm's length. "I'm kind of in the middle of a low point in my life where everything I feel is overcome by sadness and hatred and you're _really_ killing the mood."

"Well, _you're_ killing _my_ fucking mood, Jackass," Kyle bites back. "I was practically willing to let you fuck me on Pip's grave."

"Puh- _lease_ , Kahl, _"_ the larger man scoffs. "I'd be lucky to fuck you on our own damn bed, let alone in public."

"You'd be lucky to fuck me at _all_ if you keep this shit up, Cockblock," he retorts, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.

"Right, we'll see how long you can last without _all this_ ~" he winks, shimmying his shoulders for emphasis.

Kyle bites his lip in an attempt to cease his laughter but fails miserably, letting out a few snorts as he watches his idiot boyfriend dance in front of him. "You're an ass."

"A hot ass."

"Nope, that's me."

Eric chuckles, "Fair enough."

Kyle jumps forward to wrap his arms around Eric's waist and snuggles into his torso, while the brunette proceeds to hug him tightly and rub up and down his back. They relax into each other's hold, reveling in the much need body heat. They continue standing like this for a while until they feel an intolerable amount of boredom grace them. Before they separate, Eric smacks his lips against the shorter man's temple, leaving a large dollop of saliva on the pasty area, and snatches his jacket from the redhead's shoulders before shoving his arms through each sleeve. Kyle groans in disgust, angrily wiping at the dripping mess with the cuffs of his navy winter coat as Eric laughs triumphantly.

The short male looks up in frustration at his chortling boyfriend, but his scowl is soon replaced by a smile. As long as Eric forgets about his hardships for even the shortest amount of time, even if it's at Kyle's expense, he feels that he's doing his job correctly. He may not be too good at this whole relationship thing, hell, Eric can be worse, but if they can make each other happy at the most depressing and heart wrenching of times then who the fuck can tell them they're doing it wrong? They may fight a lot, but if it continues resulting in laughter and nonsense then so be it. They're happy.

Kyle's torn from his thoughts upon realizing that they had somewhere to be. "We should go home, dinner should be ready soon," he mentions after checking his phone for the time.

Eric looks at him, horrified. " _You_ made dinner?"

"We're eating at the Marshes, you retard," Kyle snickers. "Now come on, they're expecting us at five."

Eric complies, snaking his arm around his boyfriend's slender waist and exiting the cemetery. They walk in silence down the road, noticing the snow had become slush and the icicles were now water. It isn't as cold as it had been beforehand, and the already mild winds have almost completely disappeared. People are starting to leave their houses now that the weather isn't too shitty, which is nice to see. The town doesn't look as depressing anymore.

Eric looks up at the cloudy sky and sighs. He then directs his gaze to the pretty little redhead at his side. Sure, he may not have it easy. No one really does. But Kyle's right, he can't keep focusing on the past when he can be making a better future for himself. For _both_ of them. After all, he'd be nothing without that Jew. He takes one last glance back at the direction of the grave, knowing it's the last time he'll be visiting it for that man ever again. If he learns to forgive himself, then maybe in time he'll be able to forget, and this is the first step.


End file.
